


Dean/Cas Dialogue Fic Meme

by xylodemon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet Collection, M/M, Tumblr Memes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-01 10:13:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 12,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4015855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylodemon/pseuds/xylodemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short ficlets written for the <a href="http://pierceaholic.tumblr.com/post/88980020838/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill">dialogue fic meme</a>.</p><p>All Dean/Cas; ratings will vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. wait right there, don't move [adult]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "wait right there, don't move."
> 
> Dean in panties, vaguely nsfw.

Cas comes in the room quietly, and he lingers at the foot of the bed, his body casting a shadow that cuts Dean off at the shins. He stares for a moment without saying anything, his mouth slightly open; Dean shivers at the scrutiny and reaches for the blanket.

"Wait right there," Cas says, tipping his head to the side. "Don't move."

Dean's face is on fire. He doesn't remember being this embarrassed with Rhonda Hurley, but she'd talked him into it at the tail-end of a long weekend. He was never going to see her again.

"You look incredible," Cas says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Cas climbs in the bed, the mattress whining softly as he knee-walks across it, nudging in between Dean's legs. He soothes his hand over Dean's knee, then leans in closer, trailing his knuckles up the inside of Dean's thigh. "I wasn't sure you'd do it."

Dean lets out a shaky breath. Cas is still fully dressed; it's making the still-embarrassed part of his brain more self-conscious, but the rest of him is just finding it weirdly hot.

"Are they uncomfortable?"Cas asks.

"No," Dean admits, heat flooding his face again. The lace trim is a little scratchy in places, but the soft satin feels fantastic slip-sliding over his dick. "I like it."

"It took me forever to find the right pair."

"You --" Dean doesn't finish that sentence: of course Cas bought them. They didn't just miraculously appear in Dean's boxer drawer. But now Dean is thinking about it -- Cas wandering through a Victoria's Secret, running his fingers all over the scraps of satin and lace. 

Cas palms the curve of Dean's dick, slow pressure from the heel of his hand, then slides up enough to curl his fingers in the waistband of the panties, tugging until the soft material tightens and shifts. Dean arches off the bed, hissing behind his teeth; he was kind of hoping to get fucked tonight, but Cas is hard as a rock against his hip. Neither of them are going to last that long.

"Hey," he says, hooking his fingers in Cas' belt. "Get undressed."

"I want you to come first," Cas says, his voice a low burr. He tugs the panties again. "All over these."


	2. that's a good look for you [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "that's a good look for you."
> 
> Cas trying on clothes, enabled by [](http://beenghosting.tumblr.com/)[**beenghosting**](http://beenghosting.tumblr.com/).

"Hey," Dean says, knocking on the dressing room door. "You doing okay in there?"

"Yes. I'm just --" Cas sighs heavily; behind the slats on the door, Dean can see him moving around. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Yeah," Dean says. All the vamp victims were last seen at the town's country-western bar, the kind of place with line-dancing on the weekends and a house band hopped up on Kenny Chesney covers. "If we show up in our regular clothes, we're gonna stick out like a sore thumb."

Cas sighs again; this one sounds accusatory. "Dean, I haven't forgotten about your... thing."

"What thing? I don't have a thing."

Sam comes up behind him, holding a pair of boots and one of those cowboy shirts with piping over the pockets. "You totally have a thing."

"I do not."

"Dude, you marathoned the Dollars trilogy like three days ago."

Grumbling, Dean knocks on the dressing room door again. "Come on, time's up."

Cas hesitates for a second, then steps out in a blue and black plaid shirt tucked into snug black jeans. Black boots, black hat, black belt with a huge buckle -- and okay, yeah. Maybe Dean _does_ have a thing.

"Dude," Sam says, snorting. "That's a good look for you."

"I feel ridiculous."

"You --" Dean can't stop staring. Cas' thighs look incredible; Dean wants to shove him back against the wall and ride one until he comes. "You... don't look ridiculous."

Sam half sighs and half groans, the way he does when he thinks they're being gross. "I'm gonna go pay for these. You two just... yeah."

Cas turns around in the doorway, tossing the hat on the bench inside the dressing room. His ass looks even better than his thighs; Dean can't help crowding in after him. He presses Cas back against the wall, kissing him slow and a little dirty, letting his half-hard dick nudge Cas' hip.

"Dean," Cas says softly. "You'll get us thrown out of here. Remember that camping store in Minooka?"

"You started that."

"You tried to finish it in a display tent." Cas kisses the corner of Dean's mouth, then pulls away, pointing at his clothes where they're heaped on the floor. "I need to get changed."

"No," Dean says, hooking his fingers in Cas' belt. "I think you should wear it out."


	3. could you repeat that? [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "could you repeat that?"
> 
> An impromptu marriage proposal.

The parking lot is packed. The only available spot is around the back of the building, so they come in through the wrong door, end up winding through five different hallways to find the Hall of Records. They pass the registrar and the assessor and the county clerk and a tax office full of people with pissed off looks on their faces. On their third attempt to find the elevator, they get caught between the cafeteria and the line of people waiting to see the justice of the peace.

"Hey," Dean says, elbowing Cas' side. "We should get married, as long as we're here."

"I," Cas starts, tilting his head. "Could you repeat that?"

Dean leans in closer; Cas is wearing his gray suit, the one that makes his eyes look impossibly blue. "I said, we should get married." 

Cas hesitates for a second, and a heavy, sour feeling spreads through Dean's gut. They've been living together over a year, and they've been sharing a bed longer than that; Dean always figured -- well. Cas is still an angel; Dean shouldn't have assumed he'd be interested in that.

Before Dean can really start tailspinning, Cas reaches for him, touching his jaw light and quick. "I've wanted to, but I -- I wasn't sure how to bring it up."

"Oh," Dean says, smiling. Quickly, he presses his mouth to the corner of Cas' jaw. "Let's do it."

"I'm sure there's a waiting period. Two or three days, at least."

Dean shrugs. "If this job really is werewolves, we're gonna be here the rest of the week anyway."

"Okay, yes," Cas says, squeezing Dean's hand. "Let's do it."


	4. hey, have you seen the...? oh [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "hey, have you seen the...? oh."
> 
> Accidental truths.

"Dean," Cas says, coming into the storage room. "Have you seen the...? Oh."

Dean sits up with a groan, inching away from the weird, stone-carved statue beside his foot. He'd caught it on instinct when it came tumbling out of one of the boxes, and it'd immediately knocked him on his ass. Some kind of mojo had jolted through him; a bright blue electric shock that still has him twitching a little.

"Are you all right?" Cas asks.

Dean starts to say, "Yeah," but what comes out is, "My ass hurts. I think I bruised my tailbone."

Cas picks is way through the other stuff that fell out of the box, mostly papers yellowed with dust and age. "What happened?"

"I knocked over a box, and that fell out of it. I -- I, um --"

"Did you touch it?"

"Just for a second."

Cas frowns at it. "It's a statue of Ma'at, the Egyptian goddess of truth. I've seen similar statues of Veritas and Altheia; in ancient times, they were used to make criminals confess."

"Oh, God," Dean says, rubbing his face. He's got plenty of truth inside him, and none of it is the kind of thing he wants to admit to Cas. "Can you fix it?"

Crouching beside him, Cas lightly touches his forehead. He grits his teeth against the familiar, chilly sweep of grace; once it passes, he still has an itch under his skin.

"Sorry," Cas says, shaking his head. "This is old magic, and.. tenacious. If you only touched the statue briefly, it should pass in a few minutes." 

"Okay, okay," Dean says. "Can you, can you --um."

"I'll go if you want."

Dean starts to nod his head, but then his big, dumb mouth opens and he blurts out, "No, I don't want you to go. I never want you to go. I wish you'd stay here all the time."

Thankfully, Cas doesn't try to respond to that. He just clears a space on the floor with his foot and sits down about three feet away. A full thirty seconds ticks by; Dean does his best to ride the restless, rising feeling inside him, but eventually it crests, washing over him like a wave.

"I want you to sit closer."

Cas studies him for a moment, then shifts over about a foot. "Is that better?"

"No," Dean says. God, he wants to _die_. "Closer."

Cas shifts again, straightening his leg and pressing his thigh against Dean's. Another thirty seconds rolls by; the words crowd into Dean's throat, spilling out before he can swallow them.

"I want to hold your hand."

"Okay," Cas says, offering his hand palm up. When Dean doesn't take it -- he's too busy staring at it, horrified -- Cas just reaches over and laces their fingers together.

Another thirty seconds; humiliation is a living thing in Dean's gut, but he can't fucking stop.

"Cas, I --- you, um -- " Dean takes a deep breath and bites the inside of his cheek, but it doesn't stop the words from bubbling up. "Cas, I --"

Cas leans in and kisses him, soft and slow. He tips his head to the side as he pulls away, asking, "Is that what you wanted?" in voice that makes heat wrap around the base of Dean's spine.

"Yes," Dean admits, heat flooding his face. "I'm sorry, you --"

"Dean."

"You should just --"

Cas kisses him again, tugging on his hand until he's half in Cas' lap. His coat smells like the inside of the Continental, and his other hand curls into Dean's hair. He makes a gorgeous noise, so throaty and deep Dean wants to nudge him down onto the floor, slide over him, kiss him everywhere, but that thought startles him back to reality.

"Cas," he says miserably. "You don't have to. I'm just --" he waves his hand " -- it's okay."

Cas frowns at him for a second, then leans over and brushes his fingers over the statue's feet. Everything flashes blue.

"Cas --"

"I only leave because I must," Cas says, his voice far steadier than Dean's has been. "If I had my way, I would stay here with you. I wanted to kiss you. I've loved you for years."

Dean chokes out a noise. "Fuck."

"When we were first given the mission to retrieve you from hell, I feared at what we would find, but your soul was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." He touches Dean's chest, then slides his hand to the hollow of Dean's throat. "It was so bright."

The mojo floods out of Dean in a rush, but he looks at Cas and says, "I love you too," and means every word.


	5. everything's going to be fine [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "everything's going to be fine."
> 
> Dean is a worry-wart.

"Everything's going to be fine," Sam says patiently.

"No, it isn't," Dean snaps, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing in our lives is ever fine."

"Dean," Sam starts, but Dean just waves him off.

"He could get hurt."

"Yeah, he could," Sam admits, stuffing a lore book in his bag. "But, so could I. So could you. That's the job. Besides, it's just a couple ghouls."

"What if it isn't just ghouls? The newspaper said one of the corpses was missing a head. That could be hoodoo."

Sam snorts. "In Montana?"

"Okay, yeah. It's probably ghouls." Dean paces to the end of the table, unable to make himself breathe. All he can see is Cas sitting limp in April's chair, and the terrifying split-second before Cas rammed an angel blade into Ephraim's chest. "I just -- he doesn't have his grace anymore. He can't just --" he waves his hands around "-- you know."

"He's a good fighter."

"He's a lousy shot."

"I was a lousy shot," Cas says, coming into the library. "I'm markedly better than I was a few weeks ago." He pauses for a second, then jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, should I go back out so you can keep talking about me like I'm not here?"

Sam splits a frown between them, then shoulders his bag. "I'm going to finish loading the car. You two just... whatever."

The silence is horrible; finally, Cas sighs and says, "Look, Dean, I know you preferred me as an angel --"

"What? No, no way."

"-- but if I'm going to stay here, I want to pull my weight."

"Cas," Dean says, looking at his human clothes and his human slouch and his stupid, human bed-head. Everything inside him lurches; he thinks he might be sick. "This isn't about you losing your mojo. I want you here, juiced up or not."

Anger clouds Cas' face. "You think I can't take care of myself."

"I think if you died I would fucking lose it."

Once the words are out Dean wants them back; they seem to just hang there, making him obvious, exposing everything he's kept buried for years. He turns around, leaning his hands on the table so he doesn't have to look at Cas, but then Cas is standing behind him. He leans in close, laying a careful hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I think this is the closest you've ever come to telling me."

"Telling you what?"

"You know exactly what."

"If you already know," Dean says shakily, "why do you want me to say it?"

"If you say it I can do something about it."

Closing his eyes, Dean takes a deep breath. "Like what?"

"I was thinking of kissing you, but only if you've finished shouting."

Dean chokes out a noise; he can't make himself move. Behind him, Cas huffs under his breath, then nudges at his shoulder and hip until he has to turn around. He catches his fingers in the front of Cas' shirt; Cas leans in and brushes their lips together, holding Dean's hot face in his hands. 

"Come on," he says, against the corner of Dean's mouth. "We have to go kill some ghouls."


	6. this isn't exactly what i had in mind [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "this isn't exactly what I had in mind."
> 
> Hunting husbands, literally.

The vamps have them outnumbered, so they take them on back to back. The first one comes at Dean full-throttle, snarling at him with a mouthful of bloody teeth; Dean leans left a little, then swings the machete backhand, making a clean cut just above the vamp's collarbone. Cas grunts behind him, his elbow clipping Dean's hip as he shifts his weight forward. Another one charges at Dean, but Dean kicks her shin hard enough to snap the bone, then lops her head off as she's collapsing to the ground.

Predictably, the last one standing makes a break for the door, but Cas throws a knife, catching it right in the shoulder. That doesn't kill him, but it slows him down long enough for Dean to grab a handful of his greasy hair and make a clean slice right below his jaw.

"We made good time," Dean says. Crouching, he scrubs the blade of his machete with the dead vamp's shirt. "If we hurry, we can get back to the hotel in time for dinner."

"You know," Cas says, wiping vamp blood off his face, "when you promised me a honeymoon, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

It isn't what Dean had had in mind, either. At yesterday's breakfast buffet, Dean had overheard one guest telling another about the bloodless body that had been found in the lake. The front page of the complimentary newspaper had confirmed it, and Dean had felt weird about calling Sam or Jody all the way up to Niagra Falls when he and Cas were already in the neighborhood.

Dean winks at him. "Oh, yeah? What were you expecting?"

"Less vampires and more nudity." The corner of Cas' mouth twitches. "I understand it's customary for newlyweds to spend their first three or four days in bed."

"That sounds good," Dean says. He tugs Cas' arm and presses a kiss to the corner of Cas' jaw. "Let's go do that."

Cas waves a hand at the corpses. "What about this?"

Dean glances around the nest; it's the usual type of vampire squat, an abandoned building on the edge of town that's one windstorm from falling apart. "Let's just torch it."

"And then what?"

"And then," Dean says, kissing Cas' jaw again, "we'll start our four days in bed."


	7. are you flirting with me? [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "are you flirting with me?"
> 
> Dean is a jealous doof; enabled by [](http://beenghosting.tumblr.com/)[**beenghosting**](http://beenghosting.tumblr.com/).

The bar is small and dark and kind of a dive; Dean makes a slow circuit of the place, working his EMF detector into all the dusty corners. It only blips once, the lights briefly flashing to yellow when he waves it too close to the fuse box. At the bar, Cas is talking to the bartender; Dean starts another lap around the booths so he doesn't have to look.

"Agent," the bartender says teasingly. She's gorgeous, with dark, red hair and a heart-shaped face. "Are you flirting with me?"

Cas' reply is a soft rumble Dean can't pick out over the music. He tilts his head to the side and toys with the straw in his drink, and something restless and unhappy digs into Dean's chest. He turns around and pokes his EMF detector at one of the faded photos on the wall.

"Hey," Sam says, coming out of the john. "The restrooms are clear. Anything out here?"

"Nada." Dean glances at the bar just as Cas say something that makes the bartender laugh, high and bright, like a handful of bells. "This place is a bust, unless Romeo gets something out of her."

Sam watches them for a second, then snorts. "He's getting pretty good at that. Remember when he -- oh." He huffs out an irritated noise. "Are you --"

"Shut up, Sam."

"He's not --"

"Just shut up," Dean snaps, heading for the back door. 

It's warm outside, the sun just hot enough to make Dean's suit and tie uncomfortable. The Impala's nose is almost in the shade, so Dean leans his ass against the hood, fiddling with the keys as he waits for Sam and Cas. Sam comes out first; he doesn't say anything, but he shoots Dean a disapproving look as he walks around to his side of the car. Cas appears about two minutes later; instead of climbing in the car, he kisses Dean long and soft and slow.

He tastes like single-malt. He wraps Dean's tie around his hand and sucks on Dean's tongue. When he finally pulls away, Dean ducks his head a little, feeling ridiculous. 

"What was that for?"

Cas shrugs. "Do I need a reason?"

"No, I -- no."

Cas kisses him again, lingering long enough that Sam punches the horn.


	8. must be a day ending in y [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "must be a day ending in y."
> 
> Hunting husbands.

Sam calls a little before seven, which is too early after a long night of chopping up vamps. Cas is still dead to the world, snoring softly into Dean's shoulder. On the fourth ring, Dean snatches his phone off the night stand; if he doesn't answer, Sam will just keep calling.

"Yeah?"

"Hey," Sam says, his voice so chipper it stabs through Dean's ear like an ice-pick. "Are you guys still working on those vamps?"

"No. We cleared the nest last night."

"Okay, because there's been some unexplained deaths in Fort Collins, and I figured since you're already in Colorado --"

"Damn it, Sammy."

"I'm on my way up to Jody's," Sam continues. He pauses for a second, and Dean hears a wind-whistle, like he's driving with the window cracked. "She has a ghoul problem, and --"

"Ghouls?" Dean asks, snorting. Cas grumbles and rolls closer, hooking his thigh over Dean's. "Ghouls are amateur hour, and she's got Alex and Claire."

"This is some crazy-huge pack of them. They ripped up two-thirds of the cemetery in one night."

Sighing, Dean runs his hand over Cas' shoulder. "Freaky shit happening at the Sioux Falls cemetery? Must be a day ending in y."

Sam huffs out a laugh. "She said the same thing. So these deaths, they --"

"Hold on," Dean says, fumbling with the stuff on the night stand. He finds the notepad, but the pen skitters away, onto the floor. "Just text it to me. I'm still in bed."

"Oh, God. Are you naked?"

"I'm in a motel with my boyfriend without you around. What do you think?"

"I think I'm hanging up now."

The call ends with a click, and Dean snorts again as he sets his phone on the night stand. The bed dips and groans with his movements, and Cas mumbles, "Dean," against Dean's skin. Dean skims his hand down Cas' back, then pinches his hip.

"Hey, you gotta get up. Sam found us another job."

"Okay," Cas says, but he shifts closer, rubbing his morning wood against Dean's thigh. "In a minute."


	9. stop trying to cheer me up [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "stop trying to cheer me up."
> 
> Nursemaid Dean means well.

"How do you feel?" Dean asks, pausing in the doorway. 

Cas shrugs. "Like half my leg is on fire."

"Did you take your pills?" Dean asks, shooting a narrow look at the little bottle on the night stand. Every time he sees it, his first instinct is to hide it, but this Cas isn't that Cas. He shouldn't be treated like a baby because of a crazy vision Dean had five years ago. "It's been six hours."

"They don't really help. They just make me sleepy."

Dean comes into the room, pausing at the foot of the bed long enough to squeeze Cas' good ankle. "If you're asleep, you won't notice that half your leg is on fire."

Cas shrugs again.

"Come on," Dean says, climbing onto the bed. "The ER doc said it was a clean break. You'll be up in a couple weeks. And -- hey, Sam was just saying the other day that you're not really a hunter until you break something."

"He's said the same thing about dying."

That's an unpleasant thought, so Dean leans in an kisses the corner of Cas' mouth. He smells like their bed, sleep-warm and familiar. Dean presses in closer, humming under his breath; Cas allows it at first, but when Dean lingers he sighs and pulls away, bristling like a hedgehog.

"Stop trying to cheer me up."

"Hey," Dean says, stroking his hair. "I'm sorry your hurting."

"It's not that. I just -- I fell down the stairs."

"It happens."

"I tripped over my own feet."

Dean snorts out a laugh against Cas' shoulder. Cas makes an indignant noise, but Dean just noses his way up to Cas' neck and hides a kiss below Cas' ear. Dean knows it must be irritating for him; he used to be light and grace and intent and now he's stuck in a clumsy, human body that doesn't always follow directions.

"Come here," Dean says, wrapping his arm around Cas' shoulder. "Lemme tell you about the time Sam lost his shoe down a storm drain."


	10. you want me to do what? [adult]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "you want me to do what?"
> 
> blowjobs, facials; very nsfw.

"You want me to do _what_?" Dean asks, his voice breaking around the last word.

"I want you to come on my face."

Dean makes a noise like all the air has been punched out of his gut. Cas just looks up at him, his blue eyes too wide and his mouth still red and wet from sucking Dean's dick. After a moment he leans back in and noses at the crease of Dean's hip, all stubble and heat. Dean tightens the hand in his hair, tries to remember how to breathe.

"You liked it the other night," Cas says, soft.

But the other night had been an accident; Cas had moved the wrong way just as Dean had started to come, and Dean's dick had pulsed right against Cas' jaw. Something hot and dark had curled into Dean's gut, something so startling and deep it had left him moaning and clawing at the sheets.

"Yeah, but I -- _oh_."

Cas leans in again, licking a slow, wet stripe up the length of Dean's dick, then sucking it back into his mouth, taking it deep, too deep. He slides his hands up Dean's thighs, digging his thumbs into the skin above Dean's hip. Dean can't really move, between Cas' iron grip and the wall behind him, so when Cas pulls back to tongue the head, all Dean can do is tug at his hair and whine. Cas looks up as he takes Dean back in; Dean can see the shape of himself against Cas' cheek, and -- _shit, shit_ , he's going to lose it, he's -- 

"Cas," he gasps, the heat inside him cresting like a wave.

Cas pulls back, stroking him with his hand. The first pulse catches Cas' cheek, the second hits the corner of his mouth, and Dean shudders all over, unable to breath, shot through with something almost electric. He touches the mess on Cas' cheek with the tips of his fingers, moaning when Cas turns to kiss the palm of his hand, smearing it all over.

"Fuck."

He tugs Cas up and wraps his hand around Cas' dick; his thighs are still shaking, but Cas crowds him back against the wall, pressing in close as he fucks into Dean's hand. He comes hard and fast, all over Dean's hip, and he drags his fingers through it, rubbing it into Dean's skin as he kisses Dean with a sticky mouth.


	11. it's never too late [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "it's never too late."

"You should tell him," Sam says, his voice barely louder than the hum of the vending machines.

There at a shit motel in Tuscaloosa, killing time until the moon rises. Cas went to check if their suspect really is a werewolf; he's been gone about two hours, and Dean has spent most of that pacing the path that runs the length of the rooms.

"Sammy," Dean says tiredly.

"I just -- it's been, what --? Ten years?"

Dean sighs, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His legs are restless, want to keep moving, but Sam is blocking the path, so Dean just stares at him instead. He has a handful of gray hair now; the sodium-light shadows are washing them out, but Dean has seen him frowning at them in the mirror. Dean is almost forty-two, and he feels every day of it in his knees and the small of his back. In his twenties he jumped from one job to the next; now he needs two or three days of rest before he can head out again.

"I guess," he says finally, frowning out at the parking lot, where a sluggish, summer wind is irritating the trees. "Have you known all this time?"

Sam leans his shoulder against the ice machine, dulling its rattle a little. "I wasn't _sure_ until that purgatory thing with Crowley. Man, I know you hate to be wrong, but I've never seen you so desperate to be right."

Dean shrugs. Sam and Bobby's doubts had hurt like a knife between the ribs, but he hadn't understood why, not really. He didn't figure it out until he came back from purgatory alone and spend the next few months feeling like he was missing a limb.

"He feels the same way," Sam says.

"Even if he does, it's -- he's an angel."

"That doesn't mean anything."

Dean snorts. "Bullshit."

"When's the last time he went to heaven?"

Dean hesitates; it was about a month after they finished up fighting the darkness, and that was three or four years ago. Some of the angels had wanted Dean and Sam's heads for unleashing it in the first place, and Cas had gone up there to tell them to lay off.

"Whatever," he says, shrugging again. "Like you said, it's been ten years. I probably missed my window."

"It's never too late."

"Sammy," Dean starts, but then his phone buzzes in his pocket. "That's Cas. Fucking took him long enough."

Cas is waiting outside the room when they get back; Sam lets himself inside, then shuts the door while Dean is still reaching for the handle.

"Is he okay?" Cas asks.

"Yeah, he's -- can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Of course."

Nothing comes out; they just stand there for a second, the wind chugging around them, thick as soup.

"Dean," Cas says, his mouth tugging with concern. "What's up?"

Dean smiles a little, at how human he sounds. There's no mistaking what he is, not with his otherworldly edge, or the way he gives off heat like a furnace, or the way the air around him almost crackles, like all that heavenly might is trying to escape. But he dresses like a hunter now, and he more or less lives at the bunker, and he'll eat food if Dean cooks it, says it tastes less like molecules when it comes out of Dean's kitchen.

Dean's never been great with words, so he takes Cas' face in both hands, rubbing his thumb at the corner of Cas' mouth before he leans in and kisses him. Cas makes a soft, inspiring noise into it, and he wraps both arms around Dean's waist, pulling him closer. The wind rustles the collar of Cas' coat. Cas tucks one hand under Dean's shirts, holds it at the small of Dean's back.

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" he asks.

"Yeah," Dean says.

Cas smiles. "Tell me again."


	12. please stay [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "please stay."
> 
> The famous fanfiction gap.

Dean is horrified when Cas tells him he's basically homeless; his stomach lurches so hard he can barely breathe, his heart hammering in his chest as he flips a u-turn around the Gas & Sip's pumps. He'd sent Cas away with two hundred in cash and two credit cards worth about seven hundred between them, but he'd been too shattered and angry to think about the rest: how buses and motels cost money, how Cas doesn't know how to play poker or hustle pool.

His motel room is small, the single bed crammed right up against the kitchenette. He drops the key on the table and tosses Cas' bag on the dresser, then leads Cas into the bathroom to wash and dress his hand. The wound is fairly shallow, but it's ragged; it cuts an uneven line across the palm of Cas' hand, and Cas hisses behind his teeth every time Dean touches it.

Afterward, he nudges Cas toward the bed and makes him sit down.

"The room is paid up for three days," he says, his face hot and his gut twisting with shame. The truth about Sam and Ezekiel sits on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there before he works up the nerve.

"Where are you going?" Cas asks.

"I -- um." Dean doesn't know. He could get another room, or find another motel; he can figure it out when he gets outside and the fresh air reminds him how to breathe again. Maybe he'll get a jumpstart on the ride back home. Idaho to Kansas is a three-day haul, but he's still pretty keyed up. He could probably make it as far as Montpelier before he knocks out and drives the Impala into a ditch.

"Dean," Cas says quietly, but Dean turns toward the door, resting his hand on the handle.

"You're hand will hurt less if you keep it elevated. If it gets real bad, there's a bottle of aspirin in the bathroom. You can put ice on it, but don't let the bandage get wet."

"Please stay."

Dean sags against the door, his fingernails digging at the wallpaper curling against the frame. He takes a deep breath, and another. He hears the bed creak, but he doesn't register that Cas has moved until Cas' fingers brush the back of his neck. His knuckles bump the skin behind Dean's ear, and Dean shivers. He needs to go, but he lets Cas palm his hip, lets Cas turn him around.

"Yeah," he says, his voice catching in the back of his throat. "Yeah, okay." It wouldn't be the first time they've done this -- it wouldn't be the tenth -- but each time it gets harder to pretend that Cas doesn't mean everything to him. "If that's -- yeah. I'll stay."


	13. if there's one thing the world needs more of [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "if there's one thing the world needs more of."
> 
> Hunting husbands.

"Jesus Christ," Dean says, wiping the blood off his face.

His knees ache, and his heart is beating so fast he can't really catch his breath. He's learned to enjoy a good fight over the years, but this one was a sonofabitch, exhausting after the weird horrorshow they've tackled the last three or four weeks. There was the lamia out of season in Des Plaines, then the quartet of vetalas hunting together outside Mason City, then the vengeful spirit in Lincoln, and the wraith draining all the brains in an old folks home in Enid. The corpses at his feet are just icing on the cake -- two jefferson starships that somehow managed to slip the noose after Eve died.

"What the fuck," Dean mutters, nudging one of the starships with his toe. "I thought you juiced all of these bastards."

"I smote the monsters inside that diner," Cas says. He frowns at his hand for a second, then wipes it on his coat. "She likely turned most of the town."

Dean huffs out a disgusted noise. Regular monsters are bad enough; he doesn't want to think about freaky, whackadoo hybrids crawling around. Before he can complain about it, Cas slides a hand over his shoulder. His other hand cups Dean's jaw, and a chilly-hot burst of grace sweeps through him, easing the dull ache in his ribs where one of the starships got in a good punch.

"Thanks," he murmurs, twisting Cas' tie around his hand. He presses his mouth to the corner of Cas' jaw, sucking a kiss there until Cas makes a soft noise and tugs on his hair.

"Dean, we have to get rid of the bodies."

"Yeah," Dean says, wrinkling his nose. "I can't believe these fuckers are still around."

"Last month we did four salt and burns in a row, and you said you'd never been so bored."

"That was before this weirdo hit parade started." Sighing, Dean grabs the starship at his feet by the ankle and starts dragging it closer to the other one. "If there's one thing the world needs more of, it's dull, boring hunts."

The door creaks open, and Sam walks into the barn, his gigantic feet kicking up clouds of dust and hay. He looks irritated, but he isn't bloody enough to have chopped the head off a starship.

"Did you gank the one that got away?" Dean asks.

"No," Sam says, shaking his head. "I followed it."

"Where?"

"To a farmhouse about a mile down the road. I counted three of them, but there are probably more."

"That... isn't surprising," Cas says thoughtfully. "Their vampire instincts would predispose them to living and hunting in groups."

"Great," Dean mutters. "Let's go."


	14. I've got one word for you: sing-along! [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "I've got one word for you: sing-along!"
> 
> The morning after the bunker pizza party.

Over breakfast, Charlie suddenly says, "Hey," and points at Dean with her toast. "I need a favor."

"Of course, kiddo. What's up?"

"Well, Styne's goons made me like five seconds after I got back into the country. I needed to travel light, so I dumped everything I couldn't live without at the Kansas City bus station."

Nodding, Dean pops a piece of bacon into his mouth. "Sure thing. We'll head out as soon as Sam gets his ass out of bed."

"Sam isn't here," Cas says. "He went for a run."

Licking jam off her thumb, Charlie says, "That's cool. We can go later."

"Nah, we'll go now." Standing, Dean starts gathering up the plates. "You exercise, you lose."

Charlie leaves the kitchen first, followed closely by Cas; Dean hangs back long enough to stash the dishes in the sink. He pulls his phone out once he's finished, heading for the door on autopilot as he sends Sam a text. Just inside the library, he walks into Cas' back. Cas turns around before Dean can slide past him; they end up nose to nose, and before he realizes what he's doing, he has his hand in Cas' sleeve and his mouth on Cas' jaw.

"Dean," Cas murmurs, palming Dean's hip. "I thought you said we weren't going to do this."

"Yeah, I -- I know." Dean has said it more than once, but each time he means it less. And on a day like today, when everyone is here and okay and the Mark is just a distant buzz, giving in doesn't sound so crazy. "I know."

"Is that what you want?"

"It ain't about what I want," Dean says. He knows he should move away, but he just stands there instead, breathing Cas in. "It's about what's best. You --"

"I want you." Cas tips his head to the side, and his lips brush the corner of Dean's mouth. "I will always want you. But you -- I need you to decide."

Before Dean can answer, Charlie shouts, "Guys," from the bottom of the garage stairs. "We've got a problem."

When they get there, they find her in the empty spot where the Impala should be.

"Does he always steal the car to go running?"

"Sometimes, yeah." Dean says. "The trails around here get muddy when it rains. He probably drove out to the county highway."

"Well," Charlie says slowly, tilting her head at Cas. "It looks like we'll have to take your sweet ride."

Cas smiles. "I'll bring it around."

As they walk to the frontage road, Charlie elbows Dean in the side. "Hurry up and call shotgun."

"It's cool. I don't mind the back."

Charlie gives him a flat look. "Dude, it's okay to sit in the front with your boyfriend."

"Cas isn't, he --"

"Seriously? You guys are kind of obvious. Well, okay, _you're_ not, you've actually got a pretty mean poker face, but Cas --" she whistles under her breath "-- he looks at you like you've hung the moon."

"Charlie, we -- look, it's complicated."

"Really, Dean? Facebook?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"No one said you had to," she says, but when Cas pulls up she points Dean into the front seat.

The Continental isn't a bad car; Dean only ribs Cas about it because it ruffles his feathers. It needs a wash and a good wax, and the dashboard is cracking from forty years under the sun, but it runs pretty smooth. The suspension is decent and the engine sounds good. If they ever get some downtime, Dean will give it a tune-up and rotate the tires. He'll also buy Cas an air freshener that doesn't smell like stale peaches.

It's Saturday and still fairly early, so the highway is almost emtpy. Dean figures they'll make Kansas City in fairly good time; US 36 cuts through a lot of nothing between Lebanon and Kansas City, and Cas has a lead foot.

Just as they're passing Belleville, Charlie leans her elbow on the back of Dean's seat and asks, "So, how do you guys kill time on your crazy-long road trips? I-spy? License plates? Punch buggy?"

"Cas cheats at punch buggy."

"I do not."

"Using your freaky angel vision to scan the cars ten miles ahead is cheating."

Charlie shifts closer to Cas, punching him on the shoulder. "Do you really do that?"

"It was one time, and Sam --"

"Don't bring Sam into this."

Cas mumbles under his breath; Charlie leans back toward Dean, putting her mouth right next to his ear as she says, "Dude, you might as well go for it. You two already fight like you're married."

"Charlie," Dean warns, but she just waves him off. 

"Okay, Okay. I know what we can do."

"What?"

"I've got one word for you: sing-along!"

"What? Are you --"

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall," Charlie sings loudly, "ninety-nine bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around... Hey --" she pokes Cas' side "-- don't tell me you never learned to count in heaven."

"I --um. Ninety-eight bottles beer on the wall."


	15. are you fucking kidding me [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "are you fucking kidding me."
> 
> Hunting husbands.

The vamp nest is an old school New England farmhouse, two storeys and a roof that sags over the porch, the ground floor lopsided from new rooms being tacked on over the years. The lock on the front door is so rusted that Sam snaps two lock-picks before the tumbler even starts to jiggle. The vamps probably go in and out through the back, but the yard is so overgrown that a guy could get lost in it. Dean hadn't wanted to risk bumping into some bloodsucker taking is morning piss.

"Almost got it," Sam whispers, easing the lock-pick back to reposition it. A few brown-red rust flakes follow it out, smearing on the back of his hand when he tries to brush them off. "Just another sec."

"There's a window around the side that isn't boarded," Cas points out. 

"Yeah, if I -- wait." The lock clicks and Sam nods. "Got it."

Dean eases his machete out of his belt. "All right. How many do we think are in there?"

"I counted three at the bar," Sam says. "The bartender said they usually come in with two other guys."

"Two more at the pool hall," Cas adds, hooking his finger in Dean's back pocket. He gets that way right before go-time, likes to be close.

Dean leans into him a little, tipping his head back until he can feel Cas breathing against his collar. Sam doesn't quite roll his eyes. "That chick at the liquor store -- I don't know. Solid maybe."

"So... at least seven, maybe eight," Sam says.

Eight would make it almost three-to-one, but Dean has worked with worse odds and come out on top. "Okay, let's do this."

Just as he reaches for the doorknob, it rattles from the inside. The door creaks open on cranky hinges, and a short, blonde vamp snarls at them, her lips pulled back around a mouthful of nasty teeth.

Sam rams his machete through her throat. She hits the door on the way down, and it groans like a Halloween sound effect as it swings back.

"So much for surprising them," Cas mutters.

There are two more waiting for them just inside, but they're still blinking the sleep out of their eyes, and Dean and Cas take them down almost in tandem. The farmhouse falls silent, and Dean glances around the room. It has three doors leading in three different directions; Sam checks out the one on the left, then shakes his head, mouthing, "Kitchen," as he gestures for them to keep going.

The next room has three vamps in it; Dean kills the one napping on the couch right beside the door, but the floor whines as he stumble-steps out of the blood spray, just loud enough to wake the other two up. The first one dies quick; the other one manages to shout before Cas takes off his head.

"That's six," Dean says, palming Cas' hip. 

There's a grunt in the front room, then the dull, meaty thud of a dropping body, and then Sam comes through the door and says, "Seven." 

Cas brushes Dean's wrist, his fingers skimming over the thrum of Dean's pulse. "Upstairs."

Just as the crowd back into the front room, footsteps shuffle and creak over head. A vamp runs halfway down the stairs, pausing long enough to shout, "Hunters!" over his shoulder. Two more come down after him, then two more, then two more.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Dean says.

Cas touches the small of Dean's back, and then it's on.


	16. can we pretend i didn't just say that? [adult]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "can we pretend i didn't just say that?"
> 
> Sappy porn.

"Cas," Dean gasps, clawing at the sheets.

Cas hums under his breath and nudges Dean's thigh, spreading Dean open as he slides up the bed. He teases his tongue over Dean's nipple, then drags his mouth up to kiss the sweaty hollow of Dean's throat. He shifts the fingers inside Dean's body, pushing them in, easing them out, pushing them in again. Dean moans, his back arching, his heart hammering in his chest.

Cas hides a kiss underneath Dean's chin, then leans up a little, running his hand down Dean's side. He holds it at Dean's hip, thumbing soft circles over Dean's skin as he fucks his fingers into Dean again, slow and deep. He just brushes Dean's prostate, and all the air in Dean's lungs leaves in a rush. The heat waiting in his gut is restless, writhing; Dean wants to come so badly he can feel it at the back of his neck, in the soles of his feet.

"Cas, come on. Please."

"Not yet," Cas says, his fingers twisting, curling. "You're beautiful like this."

Heat rushes to Dean's face, burning in his cheeks and his jaw. His eyes sting. Cas has been teasing him for what feels like hours, and the anticipation is close to dragging him under. Everything is too much; the air in the room is too thick to breathe, and the sheets are scratchy against his back, the skin between his shoulders. His dick aches.

Cas moves down Dean's body, kissing down the center of Dean's chest, nosing at the line of hair under Dean's navel. His cheek brushes Dean's dick, and Dean hisses behind his teeth, curls his hand into Cas' hair. He tugs a little, but Cas just turns into the touch, pressing his lips to the inside of Dean's wrist. He noses into the crease of Dean's thigh, sucking a mark there, his teeth grazing Dean's skin. 

The hand between Dean's leg pauses. Cas rubs his thumb along Dean's rim, strokes the skin behind Dean's balls, then slides his fingers in deep, three of them now, and Dean comes with a weak, grateful noise that's almost a sob.

"You liked that," Cas says, soft.

"Loved it," Dean mumbles. "Love you."

Cas stills. Dean's brain catches up with his mouth and he closes his eyes.

"Can we pretend I didn't just say that?"

"No." Cas tips his head to the side, his eyes fever-bright. "Say it again."

"I -- I love you."

"I love you, too."

Cas shifts up Dean's body, the head of his dick brushing Dean's hole. He slides home with a low, throaty noise Dean can feel, his hand clutching Dean's hip and his mouth open and wet against Dean's neck. He fucks Dean slow, but it's still too much; it's all Dean can do to keep breathing. He kisses Dean's mouth and the skin below Dean's ear, and when he comes he murmurs, "Dean, Dean," against Dean's cheek.


	17. that's one hell of a mess [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "that's one hell of a mess."
> 
> Hunting husbands.

The problem with ghouls is their tendency to explode.

There are two of them in the mausoleum, bent over a floor sarcophagus as they try to lift its stone lid. They look up when Dean and Cas come in, staring at them like startled rabbits. A beat passes; the taller, ugly one snarls and the shorter, scrawnier one hunches down behind the sarcophagus. Cas gets his hands on Tall and Ugly, one around his throat and the other on his forehead. As smoke starts pouring out of his nose and mouth, Short and Scrawny makes a break for the door. Dean clips her right between the eyes. Everything below the neck hits the marble floor with a thud; everything else splatters against the wall of vaults behind her.

"Huh," Dean says, tucking his gun away. "That's one hell of a mess."

Cas walks over to Dean, wiping his smiting hand on his coat. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Dean says. He thinks he bruised his hip and shoulder forcing the mausoleum's rusty door, but it's not worth complaining about. Neither is the scrape on his arm he got from the ghoul they fought outside. He isn't going to whine about every booboo just because Cas is all juiced up again. "I'm good."

"Dean."

"Really," Dean says, frowning at the blood oozing down the wall. Cleaning up this kind of shit is his least favorite part of the job. "I'm good."

Cas comes up behind him. He holds his hand at Dean's hip and noses at the back of Dean's neck, saying, "I prefer it when you're healthy."

"Why? You plan on wearing me out later?"

Huffing quietly, Cas turns him around, nudging him back against the sarcophagus. He slides his hand up to the side of Dean's neck. The bright-hot burst of grace makes Dean gasp, but Cas just leans in and kisses the noise away, easy and soft. Dean hums into it, pulling Cas closer by the front of his coat and curling his fingers in Cas' tie. He smells like he always does after he's been smiting, like wet pavement and fresh-cut grass.

"Hey, guys. We should -- really?" Sam sighs. "There are like nine dead bodies in here. Two of them are right by your feet."

Cas leans back enough to give the ghoul corpses a long, disinterested look. Dean winks at Sam and says, "Sorry. Watching me fight always gets him worked up."

Sam sighs again and rubs his forehead. "Look, we gotta go. The funeral director heard the shots. I think he's calling the cops."

"Shit."

"The car's right here. Let's just --" Sam gestures at the ghouls and points over his shoulder "-- go."

Dean frowns at the bloody wall again. Before he can complain about leaving evidence behind, Cas waves a hand and the mess vanishes.

"Neat trick," he says, stooping to grab Tall and Ugly by the ankles.

"Lift with your knees, Dean," Cas says mildly. "I do plan on wearing you out later."


	18. there's something i've been meaning to say... [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "there's something i've been meaning to say..."
> 
> for [](http://bittercasgirl.tumblr.com/)[**bittercasgirl**](http://bittercasgirl.tumblr.com/), who wanted one where Cas is the one dragging his feet.

They return to the motel shortly after midnight. The Impala jolts over a pothole in the driveway, and Dean mutters, "Home sweet home," under his breath.

It's a tired and dingy place, faded curtains in each window and a roof that sags over the office. A dying hedge lines the path that runs alongside the rooms. Castiel's car is waiting beneath a buzzing light, its color muddied by the dull, sodium glare. Dean parks in the space beside it. He pockets the keys with a sigh, rolling his shoulders before he opens the door. Sam hunches forward, stretching his back. They move stiffly as they walk to the trunk.

The darkness is an old, unfathomable evil. It hasn't made an open move since being released, but having it loose has sparked a wave of monster activity that rivals the period when Eve walked the earth. The Winchesters have worked nearly every day of the last four months, stopping for the night in cheap motels or sleeping in the car. Castiel has been with them for all of it. He knows penance when he sees it. He understands the aching, bruised, purple feeling that comes from a debt that can't be repaid.

Sam carries his bag to the room, pausing to tell Dean, "I'm taking a shower." He turns on the lights as he closes the door, and the brief flare brightens the blood smeared on his face and caked on his clothes. None of it is his. Cas doesn't offer to remove it; he also understands the simple, human pleasure of a hot shower. 

Dean is still at the trunk when Castiel climbs out of the backseat, moving weapons and clothes between his bags. His hands are sooty from building and stoking a pyre. He has a spot of blood just behind his ear, and Castiel fills with a feeling that's both sickly green and furious red. The wraith had moved faster than he'd anticipated, tackling Dean to the ground. It just managed to pierce Dean's skin before Castiel's hands found its throat.

"You sticking around?" Dean asks. He always asks.

"Yes."

"It's not too late for a pizza," Dean says, closing the trunk. "I know you don't eat, but -- you choked down a cheese slice the last time."

Castiel smiles, a rosy warmth blooming beneath his ribs. "If you're hungry."

Dean hesitates for a moment. He sets his bag on the ground and rubs the back of his neck. A soft expression crosses his face as he says, "There's something I've been meaning to say."

The warmth in Castiel's chest turns brown and cold, crawling up to knot in his throat. He's been afraid of this. Dean lives much of his life in denial, preferring to leave things ignored or unsaid, but Castiel has recently let his own emotions buoy to the surface. It's been too much -- traveling with him every day, watching him hunt, watching him bleed. A week ago he nearly died, and Castiel had healed him with shaking hands and stinging eyes. 

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but when nothing comes out he takes Castiel's face in both hands and kisses him. Despite himself, Castiel kisses back. His love for Dean blooms again, rosy and bright, spreading through his chest and sparking under his skin. Dean makes a soft, pleased noise and curls his hand in the front of Castiel's coat. Castiel's grace skitters away from him. The light above his car shatters.

He makes himself pull away. "Dean, don't."

"Sorry," Dean says, clearing his throat and taking a quick step back. "Sorry. I -- um. I thought --"

"You're not wrong," Castiel admits, everything inside him darkening to a grayish, uncomfortable blue. "We -- I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I love you," Castiel says honestly.

The nakedness of that seems to take Dean back; he pauses again, then says, "I don't get it. If you -- if I -- if _we_ \--"

"Dean." Touching Dean's face is a mistake; Dean turns into it slightly, closing his eyes, and it's almost enough to crumble Castiel's resolve. "I've already destroyed too much."

"Don't give me that."

"Rescuing you from hell is the only thing I've ever done right. Protecting you now is the only thing I have left."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

Dean looks at the ground, his eyes wet, but he catches Castiel's hand before he can slide it away, his thumb just brushing the inside of Castiel's wrist. Clouds have gathered overhead, and Castiel is almost grateful for it, that the stars can't see his shame. He feels sick -- stupidly, humanly, sick.

"I thought it would be enough," Dean says finally, his voice tight. "You know, just having you around, but it's making it worse."

Castiel nods. "I'll go."

"No -- damn it, Cas, that's not -- I don't want you to go," Dean says, and he's angry now, his eyes sharp and heat flooding his cheeks. It only makes him more beautiful. "I want you to stay. I mean, _stay_. I want us to -- to -- I want _you_."

"If I left," Castiel starts, every word like a knife between his ribs, "If I left, you could --"

"I could what --? Forget it? Get over it?" Dean snorts out a mirthless laugh and wipes his face with his sleeve. "I'm not just looking for a prom date, here. You're it for me. If you go, I -- fuck."

Castiel studies him for a moment -- the tremble in his throat, the slow flush spreading over his jaw. In hell, Dean's soul had burned like a beacon. Castiel still can't look away.

"Heaven knows I kidnapped Metatron," he says finally. "They know I lost him. They blame me for the darkness. The other angels, they --"

"Fuck 'em," Dean says darkly. He presses his mouth to the corner of Castiel's mouth and the hinge of Castiel's jaw. "I'll stab every one of them in the throat."

Castiel pulls Dean closer, breathing out against Dean's cheek and sliding his hand into Dean's hair. His love swells up like an undertow, crashing over him before dragging him under. His grace shifts at the center of him, restless and wanting. Dean wraps both arms around him and noses at his jaw.

"If anything happens to you -- Dean, I couldn't bear it."

"Then I guess I better keep myself alive," Dean says, kissing Castiel again.


	19. last time i ask you for a favor [gen]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "last time i ask you for a favor."
> 
> Kissing curse.

Dean sighs when he hears the Continental pull into the motel's parking lot. He recognizes the squeal of its engine; he keeps meaning to replace that fan belt.

After a moment, the door creaks open. Cas comes in looking grumpy and windblown, and Dean rubs his hand over his face. His head hurts, and the inside of his mouth feels tingly and strange, almost like it itches. He sighs again. He's in a shit motel outside Fort Dodge, the kind of place where the mattresses have sinkholes in the middle and the water runs rusty for a full minute. He's down to his last sixty bucks, and the stupid witch skipped town, and now _this_.

"I got your message, but I didn't -- Dean, are you all right?"

"He can't talk," Sam says.

"What?" Cas narrows his eyes at Dean, then turns back to Sam. "What happened? A spell?"

"Yeah. We were hunting this witch -- he was running some kind of love spell racket. Heavy-duty revenge stuff, the kind of thing that makes your high school sweetheart walk out on a marriage and kids. Anyway, we got in there, and --" Sam waves his hands around "-- he threw something in Dean's face before we could get a shot off."

"Do you know what?"

"Maybe," Sam says. He walks over to the table and opens the musty book they took from the witch's workshop. "He left this behind, and I've been looking through it. After the spell hit, I smelled roses, rosemary, and mint, so I think --" he draws his finger down a page "-- I think this is our guy."

Cas reads it, then looks up at Sam. "So he has to..."

"Uh-huh."

Dean claps his hands to get their attention, then snatches up the motel's complementary notepad and writes, "Hey, assholes, I'm right here!!!!"

Snorting, Sam tosses the notepad back on the bed and says, "I think I like him better like this."

Dean growls in the back of his throat. It's the best he can do. 

"Perhaps I can... mojo it away," Cas offers, moving closer to Dean. "Reversing a spell can be tricky, but..."

Dean tips his head back, but instead of tapping him on the forehead, Cas cradles his jaw. His hand is huge and warm, and Dean bites his lip so he won't lean into it too much. The first sweep of grace is cold-hot and familiar, but Cas lingers longer than usual, like he's looking for something, digging deep. When it finally fades, Dean feels exactly the same. The weird tingle-itch in his mouth is relentless.

"I'm sorry," Cas says, shaking his head. "He's been under its influence too long. It's... taken root, I guess you could say. Like a plant."

Sam makes a noise under his breath, shooting Dean a smug, pointed look that Dean deliberately ignores. Looking back -- yeah. He should've let Sam call Cas five hours ago. He absolutely should've. But at the time, finding the witch and killing him had seemed like less of a hassle. But that didn't happen, and then Sam figured out what the spell required. _That_ had made calling Cas seem like a nightmare.

"I could manage it," Cas continues, "but I would need to unravel each thread of the spell and pull it away from Dean's soul. It would take hours, and it would be very painful for him. He would need to rest for several days afterward, and -- it would be simpler just to give the spell what it wants."

Heat floods Dean's face. _Simple_. Dean won't get his voice back until he kisses someone, and his only option is a guy he's been in love with for years. Or -- he doesn't know. Jody, maybe. He's pretty sure she'd help him out, but he'd have to drive two hundred miles with his mouth on fire, and she's never let him live it down.

"Cas," Sam starts, scratching the back of his neck. "Are you -- um. You --"

"I could," Cas says dubiously.

And that hurts. Growling again, Dean grabs the notepad and scribbles, "Last time I ask you for a favor!"

Cas reads it, then looks over at Sam. "Sam, would you --"

"Yeah, I'll just go," Sam says, lifting the keys. "There's a pretty good burrito place in Mason City; I'll pick us up some carne asada."

Dean coughs out an angry noise. Mason City is two hours away; when Sam gets back, Dean is murdering him with his bare hands. Furious, he stands up and starts for the door, but the Impala is already rumbling out of the parking lot. Cautiously, Cas touches his hip and guides him back to the bed. 

"Dean," he says, tossing the notepad on the ugly bedspread. "A favor implies that you're asking for something that's difficult or onerous. This is neither."

Dean just stares at him; it's not like he can fucking _talk_. Cas hovers uncertainly for a few seconds, then sits down beside Dean. The bed creaks like it's dying. Cas cups Dean's jaw again and says, "I'll just --"

He kisses Dean's cheek, all soft lips and warm breath.

"Did that help?"

Dean shakes his head. His mouth is still burning.

Cas kisses his temple and his forehead and the space between his eyebrows. 

"Anything?"

Dean can't breathe. He shakes his head.

Cas kisses the corner of his jaw. He lingers this time, his mouth open and a little wet, and Dean makes a soft whining noise in the back of his throat. It's so good. God, he's wanted Cas to touch him like this for years. He's still half-convinced this is still just for the spell, but Cas kisses him again, just below the ear. He sucks softly, like he's trying to leave a mark.

Dean makes another noise; without his voice it's barely a hum. Cas brushes his fingers through Dean's hair and rubs his thumb at the corner of Dean's mouth. He hesitates again, then leans in and slots their mouths together, easy and slow. The tingly itch spikes, then fades out. Dean shivers, the spell leaving him in a sudden rush.

Slowly, Cas pulls back. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Dean croaks. His voice sounds rusty. "Yeah, I'm just --?"

"What?" 

Dean looks at him -- at his messy hair and his bright blue eyes and his softly curving mouth -- and smiles.

"I'm good," he says. "Just kiss me again."


	20. come on [adult]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "come on."
> 
> Mile-high handjobs, grace-powered orgasms, overstimulation, semi-public sex, Dean is a nervous flyer. Enabled by [](http://nestingangels.tumblr.com/)[**nestingangels**](http://nestingangels.tumblr.com/).

"I've changed my mind," Dean says, to no one in particular. It's the fifth time he's said it since the plane took off.

Not that anyone is listening. On his left, Cas is reading a boring, in-flight magazine. On his right, Sam is sleeping, his head tipped against the window and his long, sasquatch legs sprawled into Dean's space. Dean can't breathe. An old friend of Bobby's is having a vampire problem outside of London, and now Dean is trapped in a metal tube that's going to crash into the Atlantic. He's going to drown. He's going to float around the ocean for five years like Tom Hanks. He's going to get eaten by a shark. He's --

"Everything's fine," Cas says finally. 

The plane makes a noise, and Dean digs his fingers into the armrests. "That doesn't sound fine!"

"You need to relax," Cas says, turning a page. He's infuriatingly calm for someone who's never been on a plane before.

"You're not nervous?" Dean asks, his voice thin around the edges. "Not at all?"

"I have wings. This is hardly the first time I've flown."

"That's different," Dean insists. "That's just --" he wiggles his fingers and makes a _pffffft_ sound. 

Cas sighs and tucks the magazine away, then rests his hand on Dean's thigh. That usually calms Dean when he's all worked up, but he justs grumbles under his breath and starts bouncing his other leg. Beside him, Sam shifts in his seat and mumbles out a thick, bleary sound.

"Why don't you take a nap?" Cas asks. 

"I can't."

The plane makes another noise, and Dean hisses between his teeth. Cas studies him for a second, then pats his thigh and says, "Come on."

Dean hesitates -- for some reason, sitting feels safer than walking around -- but Cas just gestures for him to stand, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Once Dean is in the aisle, Cas nudges him toward the rear of the plane. Dean glances at the other passengers as he passes them: a few are sleeping, and a few more are reading. A couple kids are listening to music, and one woman is knitting, and _why the fuck is everyone so calm?_

Cas stops at the bathroom and opens the door. "Here."

"What --? No! You --"

Cas pushes Dean inside, glancing up and down the aisle before crowding in behind him. It's tiny and smells like chemical air freshener, and Dean can't turn around because his hip is wedged against the sink. The door latches with a click. Cas squeezes Dean's shoulders and runs his hands down Dean's sides, then presses a slow, wet kiss to the back of Dean's neck.

"What --?

"You need to relax."

"So you're gonna -- in here?" Dean huffs out a shaky laugh. He doubts he'll even get hard -- he's way too anxious and amped up -- but his gut tugs when Cas opens his fly, and his dick fills as soon as Cas touches it, everything in his body flashing hot-cold for a split-second. "Hey, that's cheating."

Cas just hums into Dean's hair, like there's nothing weird about using his grace to give Dean a boner in an airplane john. He hides a kiss behind Dean's ear, and maybe Dean _does_ feel a little calmer, having Cas' chest warm and solid against his back, having Cas' arm around his waist. He leans into it, letting his head rest on Cas' shoulder. Cas strokes him a few times, steady and firm, then runs the water in the sink long enough to get his hand wet.

"Fuck," Dean says, gasping. "Cas -- fuck."

"You need to be quiet," Cas says, thumbing Dean's nipple through his shirt. "The attendants' station is just across the aisle."

Dean swallows his next noise, sucking in a breath as it catches and rumbles in his throat. Cas strokes him harder. His hand his huge and hot and perfect, and he touches all the spots that make Dean's toes curl, rubbing his fingers at the base of Dean's dick, tracing a knuckle along the vein that runs the length of it, teasing his thumb over the head. Dean twists his arm back, burying his hand in Cas' hair as he chokes out another moan. He rolls his hips, greedy for it, looking down so he can watch his dick slip through Cas' fist.

Dean comes suddenly, the tension in his gut snapping all at once. Cas is hard against Dean's ass, and he's breathing hard into the curve of Dean's neck, but Dean's dick fills again before he can turn around. A slow tingle of grace shivers up his spine.

"Oh, God. Oh -- Cas."

"Dean, please," Cas murmurs, sliding his hand up to cover Dean's mouth. "You need to be quiet."

It's different this time, brighter and sharper. Every twist and pull of Cas' hand sends sparks skittering over Dean's skin. It's almost too much. His knees start to shake, and Cas crowds him closer to the sink, biting kisses up the line of Dean's neck as he rubs himself against Dean's ass. Dean closes his eyes, making a muffled noise behind Cas' hand. When he comes this time it feels like a punch to the gut, and he scrabbles at the wall with his free hand so he doesn't sink to the floor.

It takes him a minute to catch his breath. Cas touches him through it, soft, his fingers come-sticky and gentle. Someone walks past the door. Cas kisses Dean's jaw, slow and wet, and Dean's body flushes hot. He starts getting hard again, his dick aching as it fills in Cas' palm. Despite the hand over his mouth, Dean whines out a thin, desperate noise that echos around the tiny bathroom.

"Shhhh," Cas says, pushing his fingers into Dean's mouth. "Everyone will hear you."

Dean shivers. Cas' fingers slip against his tongue, so he sucks them in, making slow, slick-wet sounds that feel filthy, too loud in such a small space. Cas rolls his hips and moans into Dean's hair. He's stroking Dean again, slower this time, but it's too much now -- _too much_. Dean feels like a live wire, everything under his skin pulsing and arcing and snapping. He digs his fingernails into the wall and tries to ride the heat cresting inside him like a wave. 

"You're beautiful like this," Cas murmurs. It's a lie; Dean can see himself in the sliver of mirror above the sink, and he's red-faced and wet-eyed and gulping for air around Cas' fingers. Cas is the one who's beautiful, his eyes dark and his mouth pink and flushed from sucking marks into Dean's neck.

He comes dry this time, squirming between Cas and the sink, biting Cas fingers as his dick twitches and his thighs shake. Cas holds him for a moment after, and Dean worries (hopes) he's going to try again -- the most he's ever wrung out of Dean was seven, and Dean had been a sobbing, writhing mess before it was over -- but he slides his sticky hand away and then Dean hears him undo his fly. Dean wants to help him, touch him, but he's barely standing, so he just hunches over the sink and breathes as Cas digs his fingers into his hips and comes against on his shirt.

After, Cas cleans them up with a wave of his hand. He turns Dean around, kissing Dean soft and slow as he zips Dean's fly. He has to do most of the work; Dean's mouth is slack and useless.

"Do you think you can take a nap now?"

"Yeah," Dean slurs. "I think so."


	21. i need this [adult]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "I need this."
> 
> Overstimulation, felching, mild comeplay, bottom Dean, nsfw.
> 
> (This was posted to Tumblr like a year ago but it never made it over here for some reason. Sorry for the blast from the past.)

Cas fucks into Dean steady and slow, his hands vise-tight at Dean's hips and his mouth open and wet at the side of Dean's neck. He murmurs Dean's name. Dean moans and arches up into him, trying to get more, trying to keep Cas inside him. He curls his toes in the scratchy, motel sheets. The headboard bangs against the wall like a drum.

They rarely get the chance to take their time these days. Amara is an adult now, the same dark-eyed woman Dean had met in a gritty cloud of dust and ash, and she trails destruction behind her wherever she goes -- sometimes soulless people, sometimes pockets of monster activity, usually both. They've been on the road nearly every day for the last three months, driving twelve or fourteen hours at a time and crashing in crappy motels, often sharing with Sam. Dean loves Cas with everything he has -- he loves falling asleep beside him, loves jacking him in the shower and sucking him off in the back seat of the Impala -- but he's missed this. He's missed feeling stretched open and full. He's missed the soft, awed look that crosses Cas' face when he's buried inside Dean to the hilt.

Cas murmurs Dean's name again, his lips fluttering against Dean's skin. He kisses Dean's neck and the corner of Dean's jaw, then leans up to sit back on his knees, pulling Dean's ass into his lap. It opens Dean up, his legs spread out over Cas' thighs. Heat burns in Dean's cheeks, but he just digs his heel into Cas' ass and arches into Cas again. Cas likes to fuck him like this because Cas likes to watch. He likes seeing himself sink into Dean's body. He likes seeing Dean take him in.

Dean's phone buzzes on the nightstand, but Dean just pulls Cas closer, clutching at Cas' shoulders and raking his nails down Cas' arms. Arousal is curled around the base of his spine like a snake; when Cas flirts with his dick, running his knuckles up the length of it and skimming his palm over the head, Dean shakes and whines out a noise behind his teeth.

"Are you close?" Cas asks.

"Yeah. I -- yeah."

Cas' eyes are wide and dark. He teases Dean's rim with his thumb, then with the tip of his finger, nudging a little, and -- oh, _fuck_. Anticipation hammers in Dean's chest, dangerous and fever-bright. Once, Cas worked two fingers into Dean's ass alongside his dick; Dean had come so hard he'd blacked out, and he'd spent the next three days almost constantly half-hard, heat sparking deep in his gut every time he thought about it, every time he moved and felt the slow, sweet ache Cas had left behind.

"Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean says, his voice catching in his throat. He can't really meet Cas' thrusts in this position, so he slides his hand up Cas' chest and digs his heel into Cas' ass again. "Do it."

Cas leans down for a kiss, curling his hand at the back of Dean's neck, tugging Dean up into it in a way that nearly folds Dean in half. It lets him fuck into Dean deep, his dick brushing Dean's prostate just right, and Dean pants into the kiss, fisting his hands in the sheets as Cas nips his lips and sucks on his tongue. The headboard rattles against the wall again and again and again. Cas eases back with a sigh and fumbles for the lube.

He runs his wet finger around Dean's rim, then nudges it in and in and in. Dean sucks in a breath and turns his hot face into the pillow. Fuck, fuck. Sweat is beading at his hairline and pooling at the dip of his throat. Cas eases out and inches back in, falling into a slow, careful rhythm, his thighs shaking as he fucks and fingers Dean together. He brushes Dean's prostate again, and Dean clenches around him, his blood rushing in his ears.

Cas chokes out Dean's name. His eyes flash angel-blue, and then he's coming, hot pulses Dean can feel, and -- fuck. _Fuck_. He's so close, teetering on the edge of a knife. Cas pushes two more fingers into him as his dick slips out, twisting all three together and working them against Dean's prostate. He wraps his other hand around Dean's dick, huge and sweaty and perfect.

"You're incredible," Cas tells him, stroking him hard. "You should see yourself. You --"

Dean comes, gasping out a low, needy noise, his dick throbbing as it paints his belly and chest. Cas smears his hand through the mess, then licks it off his palm, then leans down and kisses Dean's mouth, slow and lush and deep. His fingers shift in Dean's ass, barely a tease, but Dean shudders out a moan. He can taste himself on Cas' tongue. His dick aches as it tries desperately to fill again.

Cas drags a slow, wet kiss down the line of Dean's jaw, then noses under Dean's chin and nips his way down to the hollow of Dean's throat. He sucks a mark there, his stubble a soft rasp of heat against Dean's skin. Dean starts to pull Cas closer, wrapping his arm around Cas' back and threading a hand into Cas' hair, but Cas shifts down Dean's body, making the bed creak in complaint. He fucks his fingers into Dean again -- another barely-there tease -- then gently slips them out. He brushes a kiss over Dean's spent dick, then shoulders in between Dean's thighs and presses his mouth to Dean's hole.

"Cas, you -- Jesus."

Dean nearly squirms away -- it's too much too soon, and he knows he's a sloppy, fucked-out mess down there, he can feel it -- but Cas just hums into him, hooking his arms under Dean's ass and bringing Dean closer to his mouth. He laves Dean's hole with his tongue, and he curls his tongue up and in, pausing whenever Dean starts to shake to bite the insides of Dean's thighs and trail kisses over Dean's balls. It feels impossibly, impossibly good, everything soft and warm and slick. The air in the room is sex-humid, thick enough to chew; the only thing Dean can hear is the sound of Cas' mouth, filthy-wet and obscene.

Cas finally pulls away, sucking another mark into the crease of Dean's thigh before easing back and sitting up on his knees. He's hard again; Dean catches a glimpse of his flushed, curving dick as Cas hooks a hand under his ass and rolls him onto his belly. Cas teases his cleft with his fingers, then spreads him open dives back in, all soft lips and wet flutters of tongue. He slides a hand between Dean's legs, cupping Dean's dick. Dean hisses and claws at the sheets, but when Cas asks, "Yes?" Dean heaves out a breath and nods into the pillow.

"Yeah."

A quick burst of grace and Dean dick is filling in Cas' palm. His whole body throbs with it, heat sparking under his skin. A thin, helpless noise builds in his throat, spilling out before he can swallow it. His eyes sting.

"Are you sure?" Cas asks, his voice soft.

"Yeah. C'mon."

Gently, Cas tugs Dean up by the hips. He rubs himself against the swell of Dean's ass a few times; the head of his dick tags against Dean's hole and Dean moans, long and low.

"Dean, is it too much?"

It is too much -- Dean is trembling all over, can hardly breathe -- but he wants it. Fuck, he wants it.

"No. I need this. Need you."

Cas slides home with a beautiful sigh.


End file.
